


Mr. Hale and the Terrible, No Good, Awful Autumn

by bleep0bleep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Sheriff Stiles Stilinski, Single Parent Stiles Stilinski, Sterek Week 2016, Teacher Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8381668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/pseuds/bleep0bleep
Summary: There's a new sheriff in town, and Derek definitely wants to date him. Unfortunately Stiles' son hates Derek's guts.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Ужасная осень мистера Хейла](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098330) by [JuliaJulia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJulia/pseuds/JuliaJulia), [tatianatiana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatianatiana/pseuds/tatianatiana)



> Thank you [mad-madam-m](mad-madam-m.tumblr.com), [paintedrecs](paintedrecs.tumblr.com) and [jay](http://sourwolfandsarcasm.tumblr.com) for looking this over!
> 
> This fic has been translated to French and is available [here.](https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12711585/1/)
> 
> This is for [Sterek Week 2016,](http://sterekweek2016.tumblr.com/post/152234059511/its-midnight-est-and-you-know-what-that-means) for the theme of "Kids." I realized most of the kid fics I've written, the kiddo automatically adores the date-ee, so I thought it would be hilarious to do the opposite.

Derek sets down the last bottle of glue on the table— he’s just about set up for arts and crafts this afternoon. There is construction paper of all colors on each table, safety scissors, glue, glitter, and he’s even got the vacuum cleaner ready for cleanup afterwards. He’s even got a stack of magazines ready to cut out, and markers and pipe cleaners and those fuzzy pom pom things.

The bell rings in the distance; they should be coming back from recess any minute now. Derek smiles at the setup, savors the last minute of peace and quiet before his students come back.

They clamor through the door, all bright-eyed and way too energetic. Larry has somehow gotten himself covered in mud, even though it’s been nothing but bright California sunshine this entire week. Jill is already commandeering all the glitter, taking all the little jugs and putting it on her desk, organizing them by color. Derek shakes his head, chuckling to himself.

“Jill, we’re sharing all the supplies, okay?” he says, and convinces her to get the glitter when she needs it. “Larry, your mom packed extra pants for you— do you want to go to the bathroom to change?”

Derek’s just finished explaining the art project, and Larry has returned from the bathroom (mostly) clean of mud, when there’s a knock on the door.

It’s an exasperated looking Erica. There’s a kid standing at the other end of the hallway, his arms crossed and he’s giving Derek the most hateful, spiteful glare.

“Hey,” she says. “I know it’s October and you’re already—”

“Already well into my curriculum,” Derek says with a sigh. He eyes the kid, who is currently spitting on the floor.

“This is Br— Br—” Erica sighs and hands Derek a few sheets of paper. Derek notes the name and raises his eyebrows at how many writeups the kid has had so far— school hasn’t even been in session for two months. “He was in Harris’ class, but it’s not working out. You’re the only other third grade teacher who has room. Please?”

“He’s in third grade?” The kid looks like he could be six years old.

“He skipped one last year. The other students were giving him a hard time and Harris certainly wasn’t helping. You know how he is.”

Derek certainly has his hands full, but he eyes the sullen boy and imagines the poor kid at the mercy of other cruel kids— with a name like that, it wouldn’t have been easy. Smart, probably, if he skipped a grade.

Erica knows his weakness, and that’s helping students who have been overlooked by others.

“Alright,” Derek says.

“You’re the best!” Erica beams at him. She beckons to young Bronisław, who steps forward slowly, giving Derek a wary glance. “This is Mr. Hale, he’s going to be your new teacher, okay? Be good,” she says, and Bronisław sticks his tongue out at her.

“Hey,” Derek says. “That’s not nice. You should be respectful of all the people who work here.”

“You should be respectful of YOUR FACE,” Bronisław says, rolling his eyes.

Derek isn’t going to back down; he shelves the urge to discipline the kid and instead gives Erica a _I’ve got this_ nod and ushers him into the room. “Alright, everyone, this is Bronisław. He’s going to be joining our class.”

“Hello,” the kids chorus, and Derek smiles, pleased. They’re cute. And good kids.

“Bronisław, you can sit with Jill and Kyle here, there are plenty of art supplies, we’re making Halloween decorations for the classroom but feel free to be as creative as you like,” Derek says gently to the boy.

“Whatever,” Bronisław says. “Just because you can pronounce my name right doesn’t mean I’m gonna like you.”

Jill makes an affronted face. “Mr. Hale is the best. Everyone likes him.”

Bronisław eyes Derek and Derek’s never seen the phrase _challenge accepted_ so personified in a small child.

“Have fun,” Derek says, before walking away from the table. Jill and Kyle are his best students, and they’ve always been easy to make new friends. He’s sure young Bronisław will settle in in no time.

 

* * *

 

Bronisław is a fucking _nightmare._

Derek has no idea what to do. He’s tried everything in the handbook and then some, but the kid seems intent on distancing himself from everyone, causing a ruckus and is in general, nothing but concentrated mayhem.

Bron, as he likes to be called, stole all of Jill’s glitter the first day, and then scattered it everywhere, and that stuff is ridiculously hard to clean. The janitors won’t even try, they just empty out the trash and leave the glitter for Derek.

And then the next day, he hid Larry’s extra pants and so Larry didn’t have any clothes to change into after recess, and there was mud everywhere, on the chairs, the floor, the desks.

He raises his hand all the time, asking questions like “But why?” like a broken record, even though Derek just explained the concept, just to be annoying.

He finishes his math assignments first, and then instead of sitting quietly and reading or something, proceeds to make weird popping noises with his mouth, until the other kids start complaining.

Derek sighs, making a list of topics to go over with Bronisław’s parents. It’s a good thing they’ve got Parent-Teacher night on Monday.

 

* * *

 

No sign of Bronisław or any Stilinski so far. Derek sighs, shuffling his paperwork and sitting back on his desk. He’s seen almost all the parents so far, and Parent-Teacher night is just about over.

He checks his watch. Yep. Eight thirty-six. It’s been over for awhile.

Derek starts to pack up, and out of the corner of his eye he spots a sparkle of glitter in the corner. “Damnit,” he curses.

He gets on his hands and knees with the mini dustpan and broom, trying to get all of it. It’s really in there. Derek coughs, accidentally throwing dust and glitter into his face, and that’s when he hears it.

“Um, hello? Is this Mr. Hale’s classroom?”

Derek curses; meeting a parent with his ass-first is not the way to make a first impression.

He stands up straight and tries to pull himself together, and stops short, taking in the gorgeous man in the doorway.

He’s wearing a sheriff’s badge, and a fitted uniform whose sleeves hug his biceps just so, and Derek’s mind blanks, because he knows their elementary school has invited people in the community— nurses, firefighters, officers, etc, to do all sorts of career presentations to the students over the course of the year. He can’t remember whether he’s gotten someone assigned to him yet.

Derek vaguely knows they have a new sheriff; it’s a small community, their little town, but he hadn’t met the man yet. He’s heard good things about the sheriff: passionate, devoted to his work, a keen eye for details.

He hadn’t realized he would be so _young._

And hot.

Derek’s in the middle of guessing the man’s age— early thirties, most likely younger than Derek, and would it be weird if Derek asked him out— when the sheriff coughs again, and Derek realizes he hasn’t answered him yet.

“Oh, yes, sorry about that. I’m Derek Hale.”

The sheriff takes his hand and gives him a firm shake. “Great to meet you! Stiles!”

“What?” Styles? Is he commenting on the look of Derek’s classroom?

“Ah, that’s my name.” Stiles grins at him, bright and sunny. “My given name is a bit of a mouthful; I kept on the tradition with my kid, but his wasn’t as bad as mine, really.”

Derek nods, lingering on the touch a bit too long. Up close, Stiles is even more breathtaking— big brown eyes and soft pink lips that look absolutely kissable.

He’s always wanted to say _fuck the police._

Derek steps forward a bit, right into Stiles’ space, squaring his shoulders in a way he knows makes him look good; he hasn’t been to the gym in awhile, but he knows what he looks like. He can totally flirt with someone if he wants to. And he _wants to;_ he hasn’t had anyone pique his interest like this in a long time.

“New sheriff, right? I’ve heard great things about you,” Derek says conversationally.

“Oh! Thanks! I just moved back here from San Francisco. A bit of a change of pace, but I’m digging the small-town feel so far,” Stiles says.

New in town. Derek can definitely work this. “Have you had a chance to go to Rosie’s yet? They make the best coffee in town.”

“Haven’t,” Stiles says, smiling crookedly.

“Well, I’ve just finished Parent-Teacher night, if you’d like to—”

“Oh! You’re done already?” Stiles rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I knew I was late, I’m so sorry. I tried, but we had a ridiculous pile-up off of Main and needed all hands on deck to—”

Derek blinks. He’s missing something.

“We could do it over coffee, though?” Stiles says, starting to blush. It looks good on him, his cheeks pinking up, redness travelling down his neck. Derek wants to know how far it goes down. “I mean, um, is that weird, is this like a date? Not that I wouldn’t want to go on a date with you, but is there a thing, with the school for teachers and… parents..”

“Your—”

“My son? He’s in your class, just transferred? Part of the reason why I’m late is that I was on the other side of campus and Harris just yelled at me for twenty minutes about what a terrible father I am.”

“Your son,” Derek says faintly. Stiles is a parent. He’s here for Parent-Teacher night.

“Yeah. Bronisław? He just transferred to your class, like, two weeks ago?”

“Yes.” Derek had a whole speech planned, filled with good, supportive phrasing that was also firm, like _smart and creative but needs more outlets,_ and _he’s disruptive in class, what can you tell me about his behavior at home?_ but he’s completely forgotten all of it, and now he can’t manage to string two words together.

Stiles exhales and steps into the class, ignoring the adult-sized chairs Derek had set up for the parents and sits right at one of the student desks— the ones built for kids. He barely fits into the little connected chair, limbs spilling out everywhere. “How’s he doing? I was so worried about him, the move was pretty sudden, you know, and he went from having all these friends and now…” he trails off, biting his lip.

“Bron’s very smart,” Derek says finally. “He’s had trouble making friends, though, you’re right about that.”

Stiles sighs, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Derek sits on top of the desk next to him, watching the way worry creases Stiles’ eyebrows. Clearly he loves his kid and wants to do the best for him. “Look, you’re a parent. You’re gonna worry. The fact that you’re worried about what you’re doing wrong means you’re doing it right, you know? No one’s perfect.”

“The move and starting this new job as sheriff, it’s a lot—”

“Bron’s a good kid,” Derek says. “He’s going to do great.”

Stiles beams at him.

 

* * *

 

 

“I know what you’re doing,” Bron says to him at recess the next day. The kid stayed behind, lingering as the other kids ran out the door.

“What?” Derek asks, raising his eyebrows.

“You can’t date my dad,” Bron says, jabbing a finger into the air and pointing at Derek.

“I’m not— why would you think that?”

Bron rolls his eyes. “Grownups think they’re so smart. He got the grossest look on his face this morning at breakfast and I asked what was up and he said he was gonna hang out with you because you’re great, and you’re a _great teacher who believes in me_ —”

“I do,” Derek insists, and stops himself from asking what Stiles has said about him. Sure, Stiles said yes to coffee this afternoon, but he’s pretty sure it’s not a date.

“No, you don’t,” Bron says. “You hate me. All teachers hate me.”

“I don’t hate any of my students,” Derek says honestly. Bron is challenging, yes, but he’s a kid. Every kid is unique. Derek did a few hands-on activities this morning that would appeal to kinesthetic learners, and he caught Bron smirking a few times, having finished engineering his tower first.

“Whatever, he probably is just hanging out with you because you’re my teacher,” Bron says.

Derek’s heart sinks a little.

“He hates coffee,” Bron continues. “You’re going after school, right?” He eyes Derek up and down and laughs a little. “Psh. Good luck. You look like a lumberjack that hasn’t showered in three months. Gross.” With that, he turns around and scampers off to recess, whistling.

Derek plucks at his plaid shirt and frowns. It had been a gift from Cora for his birthday a few years ago— it’s kind of old, but it’s comfy, and one of his favorite shirts. Does he really look that grubby?

He heads off to the bathroom and realizes with horror that his beard _is_ rather overgrown; he looks like a lumberjack, indeed. Great.

After school Derek races home and takes a shower, scrubbing fiercely and then shaving his face completely. He runs his hand across his smooth chin; it feels a bit strange, but he does feel a lot more put together.

In the back of his closet there are some more formal clothes; he finds a nice dress shirt and some slacks, changes into those, and by then it’s almost time to meet Stiles at Rosie’s.

Stiles is already sitting with a cup, reading something on his phone. Derek sits down next to him. “Hi,” he says. “Sorry I’m late, I—”

Stiles looks up and blinks at him. “— Derek!” he says, after a moment. “You, uh— I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Yeah, I just felt like it had been awhile since I shaved,” Derek says awkwardly, now feeling self-conscious about how baby-faced he is.

“Are you going to like, a meeting or something afterwards? Am I keeping you?”

“No, no, I just—” Derek glances at Stiles’ own outfit, a t-shirt with a picture of Yoda on it, and jeans. “I didn’t want to look like a grubby lumberjack?”

Stiles spits out a bit of his drink, his cheeks red. “I, ah, okay. It’s not a bad look, I’m just saying. You look good like this, too!” He reaches out like he’s going to touch Derek’s face, and then falters, grabbing the table instead.

“Thanks?” Too? Did Stiles… like Derek’s beard or something?

Stiles’ mouth falls open. “Oh no. You’re dressed up because this _is_ a date— I— I look like a slob!”

“No, no, you look great,” Derek says. The t-shirt looks like it’s seen better days; it’s small on Stiles, stretched out around his shoulders and his arms but the overall effect is… nice. “So this is a date,” he says, pleased, scooting his chair a bit closer. “Good.”

Stiles laughs. It’s a good laugh, like he’s filled with joy, head tossed back, entire body shaking with mirth. It’s infectious, and Derek’s laughing too, like he hasn’t in a long time.

He’s forgotten how fun it is to talk to someone he’s interested in; another adult who laughs at his jokes, one who makes jokes back at him. Dirty jokes, too, followed with a saucy wink that makes Derek weak in the knees.

Coffee (which Stiles does like, a lot) turns into dinner, and they talk long after the meal is over, and Derek feels like he’s been going a mile a minute— Stiles is so energetic, so much fun, and Derek’s heart races when Stiles puts his hand on his.

“Oh, it’s almost five,” Stiles says with disappointment, looking at his phone. “I gotta go pick up Bron from nerd club.”

“Nerd club?”

Stiles chuckles. “Uh, I mean, I always forget what the actual name of the program is. He goes after school to this youth center downtown and they do all sorts of science things; build robots, throw watermelons off buildings to test gravity, stuff like that. I’m just lucky the school bus has a stop there; it’s a really good program, and Bron loves it, which is great, because if I don’t have a day off like today, I usually get out of work pretty late.”

Derek nods. He’s more than a little impressed with Stiles and how much he puts into Bron and his interests; he’s pretty sure the pranks and stuff was just Bron acting out because of the move. Sudden change and all that. He’ll settle in no time.

“This was fun. We should do this again,” Derek says.

“Absolutely!” Stiles says. “Alright, gotta go! Bye!” And he leans forward and kisses Derek quickly on the mouth; it’s a quick and sweet, the lightest of touches, and it feels so normal that it takes a moment for Derek to process what’s just happened.

Stiles is already out the door, and Derek is sitting there, stunned.

“Did he just—”

“Kiss you, yep,” Rosie says, looking up from her magazine at the counter. “Your boyfriend’s cute, Derek.”

Boyfriend, Derek thinks to himself, grinning. He likes the sound of that.

 

* * *

 

Later, he’s doing some last-minute adjustments to his lesson plans for the week when he gets a phone call. It’s almost nine o’clock, no one ever calls this late other than his sisters, so he picks up.

“Hey,” he says, without looking at the screen, expecting Laura or Cora’s voice on the other end.

“Um. Hi? This is Stiles. We, er, went on a date this afternoon.”

“Hey,” Derek says with a completely different tone, sitting up. He can’t help smiling; he’s still thinking about that kiss.

“So, uh, I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this, and I didn’t realize until like, after I picked up Bron and made him dinner and I was trying to text you but it was a lot, you know, and I couldn’t pick the right emoji—”

“Oh?” Derek’s heart has started beating rather quickly. Is Stiles cancelling their next date?

“I kissed you, and I’m sorry, and I don’t have an excuse other than I was leaving and it felt right, like we were together but we’re not, and I totally understand if you’re weirded out and don’t want to see me anymore—”

Derek laughs. “It was a nice kiss, Stiles. I was a little surprised, yes, but in the realm of first-date-kisses, I think it was… a seven.”

“A seven,” Stiles says breathlessly. “You liked it.”

“Yes. If you hadn’t run off I could have kissed you longer, and it would have been a ten.”

“Next time,” Stiles says. “We could— do you wanna do, like, actual dinner and movie?”

“Sure. Friday?”

“Oh. Bron and I are picking out a pumpkin for Halloween— you could come with us, if you want!”

Derek can hear Bron in the background. “No no no, Dad, what are you doing?”

“I’m inviting Mr. Hale to come to the pumpkin patch with us. It’ll be fun!”

There’s a loud groan. “But Da- _aad_ , it’s a Stilinski tradition, he’s not a Stilinski…” the rest of the sentence is lost in a muffled noise; Stiles must have his hand over the phone.

Derek holds his phone awkwardly; he can’t really hear them arguing, but it’s apparent that Bron doesn’t want him there. He’s ready to tell Stiles that he doesn’t want to intrude on his family time when Stiles comes back on the line.

“Hey, Der— _Bron, I said it’s past your bedtime! Go!_ — sorry about that. Okay, we’re on for Friday! It’ll be great.”

 

* * *

 

The next day in class during art, Bron catches Derek’s eye, then very slowly and methodically, swats his hand at Jill’s pot of glitter, scattering its contents to a floor like a disgruntled cat.

Derek pulls him back at recess after the other kids left. “Hey. I really like your dad, so if—”

“Well, he doesn’t like you,” Bron says, sticking his tongue out.

“What?” Derek blinks. Stiles had sent him a string of emojis this morning, all various pumpkin-shaped, and said he couldn’t wait to hang out with him again.

“He kisses people all the time. He thinks I don’t know, but when we lived in San Francisco he would go out a lot,” Bron says pointedly. “Like, whenever I stayed with my Uncle Scott and Aunt Kira, they were saying my dad was having grown-up time, and I know what that means.”

“Okay?” So Stiles dated people before, that’s normal.

“You’re not gonna last longer than a week,” Bron says, crossing his arms.

Derek can’t believe he’s having a stare-down with a third-grader. “We’ll see about that,” he says.

 

* * *

 

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the wide-eyed pumpkin attendant says. “You can check out at the booth with Stacey and pay for all the damage to the pumpkins you’ve caused.”

“Fine,” Derek grumbles, standing in the midst of at least five smashed pumpkins. He grits his teeth, thinking to himself that Bron’s just acting out, that his dad dating is a new change on top of all these other changes, but—

The kid is a _jerk._

Derek doesn’t understand. He’s been nothing but nice to him, even changing his entire curriculum in the class to involve more hands-on activities and experiential learning, and Bron still isn’t stopping with the pranks.

And this date— he was having a good time, and he thought Stiles and Bron were too, and they were all bonding together— at least until Bron asked Stiles to check out a pumpkin in the next row and then proceeded to jump on every pumpkin around Derek and then run away without anyone seeing him, leaving Derek to take the blame.

“Sir—”

In the next row, Bron has caught up to Stiles and is taking his hand. He looks up and catches Derek’s eye and smirks at him.

“Sir, you have to leave—”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Derek grumbles, and he lets himself get escorted out.

He gets to his car and texts Stiles, _something came up, sorry. raincheck?_

 

* * *

 

Their next few dates go a lot better. They go on a hike the next weekend— Derek’s suggestion, he loves the mountains, and he loves sharing his passions. Stiles, not so much with the elevation gain and the steep trail, but they had a good time, and Derek had let himself be pulled off the trail into the trees to be kissed, and kissed, and kissed. They went out to the movies— something terrible with explosions, Derek has no memory of the movie, only the exhilarating feeling of making out with Stiles in the back row.

He feels like a teenager with Stiles, like every single crush he’s ever had, but magnified a thousand times. Derek knows he’s falling for him, the more time they spend together, and he loves the way Stiles’ eyes light up when he’s talking about putting together details for a case, when he makes a breakthrough, the way he talks about his son and adores him. He likes the rapid-fire way Stiles talks, his easy laugh, how he brightens up the room.

Unfortunately Bron still radiates hostility at Derek, no matter what he does. Derek tried having dinner with the two of them, making the famous Hale lasagna and everything, but everything seemed to turn out wrong, from Stiles being allergic to the sulfites in the wine he brought to Bron refusing to eat anything red that week. It had turned into a full-on temper tantrum, and Bron had locked himself in his room.

“Sorry about all this,” Stiles says. “It’s probably better if you go— I’ll just make him some mac-and-cheese and we’ll do a puzzle together, that always calms him down.”

“It’s me, isn’t it,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles looks at his feet and then back up. “I’m sorry. I thought Bron was ready for me to date again— I haven’t in a few years, you know, but I think he’s got a lot of bad memories when I tried before, like a year after I split with his mom, I wasn’t really in a good place and it wasn’t good for the both of us—”

“I understand,” Derek says.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says. “I just don’t think it’s going to work out.”

Derek nods, feeling the heavy weight of the words drape over him. Stiles hugs him goodbye, and it really feels like it— goodbye.

 

* * *

 

Life goes on. October turns into November. For some reason Derek thought Bron would lord the breakup over him in class, be smug about it, but he never mentions it at all. The pranks calm down, especially after Jill pranks Bron back by putting glue on his chair, something Derek thought might spark an all-out war, but instead somehow the two kids come out of the incident as best friends.

Derek can see a lot of Stiles’ personality in Bron, and it’s endearing and at the same time makes him miss Stiles. But he knows it was for the best; Stiles wasn’t ready to date again, didn’t want to see him. And as much as it makes Derek’s heart heavy to think about it, he still has to teach.

The school is organizing a Thanksgiving charity drive— collecting donations and nonperishable foods, and Derek’s come up with a great special assignment. Usually the school has each class make some paper-mache sculptures and sell them, but Derek’s sure his students could come up with something better.

He picks a few of his brightest students; Bron and a few others who were ahead in the math modules and lets them plan everything, from buying the art supplies, finding out how much it costs, what the students were going to make, and how much to charge for each thing. The kids were excited about it, and they were even more excited that they were put in charge of the money.

“Thanks, Mr. Hale,” Bron says, giving Derek a weird look after he was named the captain of the project— by the other students.

“The other kids picked you, I had nothing to do with it,” Derek says in response, but he feels proud nonetheless.

“But thanks,” Bron had said softly.

Derek pats him gently on the shoulder and heads back to his desk. Bron’s watching him the whole time, big brown eyes lost in thought.

At recess, the other kids pile out, and Bron stays behind. “Mr. Hale,” he starts, biting his lip.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Bron says quickly. “I was— I’m still, I guess, but I’m trying— I mean, I was a butthead. To you. And you were just trying to be nice, to me, and to my dad, and— yeah. I’m sorry about the glitter, and Larry’s pants, and the pumpkins—”

“It’s okay, Bron,” Derek says gently. “I know it’s hard, especially when there’s lots of change in your life. Going from a big city to our little town must have been really difficult, and leaving all your friends too.”

“I was mean to you, and I said a lot of things— I just want my dad to be happy, you know? But I— I think I messed it all up.”

“It’s not your fault,” Derek says. “Your dad and me— he said he wasn’t ready to date, that’s all.”

“But—”

“Go and play,” Derek says, jerking his head at the door where Jill and Kyle seem to be waiting for Bron. “You’re missing your recess.”

Bron surprises him by hugging him tightly, throwing his arms around Derek. Derek hugs him back, patting him gently and turns him around. “Go on,” he says.

“You should call him, though! He misses you!” Bron says hopefully as he runs out the door.

 

* * *

 

Derek doesn’t call. There had been a definite ending, and it was a good, clean breakup. There’s no need to make it weird.

 

* * *

 

Derek returns from lunch the next day and there’s a line of students waiting outside. He smiles at them and places his key in the lock and pulls.

The door steadfastly refuses to move. Derek looks around, and he can see the teachers of the classrooms around him are also equally perplexed, unable to open their doors as well.

“What—” Derek tries again, and then he sees the shiny traces of— “Glue?” he exclaims, and turns to his students. “Who glued the door shut?”

The students fall quiet, and shuffle backwards.

Bron grins cheekily at him. There’s a glue bottle stuck to one of his hands.

Derek sighs. “You know this isn’t a small thing, Bron, you’re seriously cutting into our class time here. I’m gonna have to send you to the principal’s office and call your—”

Bron is already grinning.

“—dad,” Derek finishes, shaking his head.

By the time he gets his class settled— luckily Erica’s free to watch them do this reading assignment, and he gets over to the principal’s office.

Bron is sitting on the chair outside the office, swinging his legs cheerfully. “Hi, Mr. Hale,” he says.

“Bron,” Derek says.

“I think the punishment is up to you, Principal Martin says I don’t need to be suspended, but I already said I could help you after school with cleaning and stuff, or whatever you need. She’s talking to my dad right now.”

“Right,” Derek says. “What were you thinking?”

Bron shrugs. “Well, you didn’t call him! I told you to!”

“Just because—”

The door opens, and Stiles walks out, laughing a bit. “Thanks, Lyds, see ya,” he says, waving. “Oh, hey, Derek.”

“Hi,” Derek says, waiting for it to be awkward, but it isn’t.

Stiles claps Bron on the shoulder. “Superglue on the doorway, really, dude? How many bottles did you go through?”

“So many, Dad, so many...”

Stiles laughs.

“It wasn’t funny,” Derek says. “I couldn’t open the door.”

“Really, tough guy?”

It had taken a few tries, and finally Derek had put everything into it and pulled, but yeah, that’s ten minutes of class time, and everyone’s class time as well as the janitors and everyone had to be called into help fix the problem. It’s not as annoying as he’s making it out to be, though; he’s just nervous, butterflies in his stomach going haywire as he looks at Stiles.

Stiles looks right back, his warm brown eyes lighting up, and he’s smiling a bit, mouth curving up like he can’t resist it.

“It’s good to see you,” Derek offers. “How— how’ve you been?”

“Good,” Stiles says. “How are you?”

Bron groans, standing up, and he gets behind Stiles and pushes him forward, right into Derek. “This is dumb! You two are _so_ dumb! You both like each other, okay! Just be gross and happy again.”

“What—”

“Bron, really—”

“I already said I was sorry, okay! And I don’t care if you date, Dad, I mean, I used to, but Mr. Hale makes you happy, and he’s… pretty cool, I guess.”

Derek can feel his face heat up, and he backs up a bit so they’re not chest-to-chest anymore.

“Really?” Stiles looks at him, raising his eyebrows. “You think he’s cool?”

Bron shakes his head. “No. He is the opposite of cool. He wears like, grandpa sweaters and he always forgets where his glasses are, even when they’re on top of his head. But he’s a good guy. And a good teacher.” He smiles at Derek.

“Thanks, Bron,” Derek says, chuckling. “So, um, coffee?”

“I’d love to,” Stiles says.

 

* * *

 

It’s the big gala the school is putting on for the Thanksgiving fundraiser, where all the students present how much they raised. His class did really well this year, Derek’s really proud.

The school auditorium is packed with students; they’re going to announce the winners who raised the most money soon, and Derek forgot that he was keeping the trophies in his classroom, so he’d gone back to get them— with help, of course.

“We still have time,” Stiles says, pulling Derek back towards him for another kiss. He’s perched on Derek’s desk, and there’s paperwork and knickknacks all over the floor, and Derek can’t be bothered to pick any of it up.

Stiles is absolutely irresistible, and Derek groans, running his hands down Stiles’ back and pressing closer. Stiles responds in kind, hooking his legs around Derek’s waist, their bodies aligning, and the kiss deepens—

The door opens. “Hey, Mr. Hale, did you need help with the trophies— EWWW!”

Derek and Stiles break apart, both catching their breath, and they turn to see Bron in the doorway with a disgusted grimace.

“Really? You two couldn’t wait until the party is over? Seriously,” Bron says, rolling his eyes. He strides over to the box of trophies sitting next to the door and picks it up. “You better get it out of your system because you’re not going to be gross at home tonight. Mr. Hale promised he’d show me how to work with circuits.”  Bron gives them a stern look and then leaves without another word.

Derek coughs. “That’s true, I did,” he admits.

“But tonight is Star Wars night!” Stiles says, poking Derek in the chest. “Are you blowing off our movie marathon to be nerds with my son?”

“...yes?”

Stiles laughs. “Okay.” He grabs Derek by his sweater and brings him in for another kiss, soft and sweet and full of promise.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been translated to French and is available [here.](https://m.fanfiction.net/s/12711585/1)
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'm on [tumblr](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/bleep0bleep) if you wanna say hi.


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